


Why is This So Familiar?

by 1AbbyNewth5



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Exploring, Happy third birthday WKM!!!, Mark Fischbach Egos, Mirrors, Mythea Castle/Markiplier Mansion, Nostalgia, Smoking, Wilford and Abe are still friends, Wilford visits the mansion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1AbbyNewth5/pseuds/1AbbyNewth5
Summary: Every October 13th, Wilford visits the Markiplier Mansion on his own. He isn’t sure as to why, but he does. His memory was always faulty on the subject. He isn’t so sure why about that part, either. Nevertheless, every October, Wilford would get himself ready to visit the abandoned mansion.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	1. Getting Ready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY THIRD BIRTHDAY TO MARKIPLIER'S "WHO KILLED MARKIPLIER?" SERIES!!!

Every October 13th, Wilford visits the Markiplier Mansion on his own. He isn’t sure as to why, but he does. His memory was always faulty on the subject. He isn’t so sure why about that part, either. Nevertheless, every October, Wilford would get himself ready to visit the abandoned mansion.

The Markiplier Mansion is a large old mansion located in the Laguna Hills of Los Angeles. It’s been abandoned for God knows how long, and has fallen into disrepair. Wilford has just recently heard that the mansion has been renamed to the Mythea Castle… That’s gonna take some notes to remember.

Wilford was never into the specifics of keeping track of the time when he’d leave, he just knew that it had to be late at night. Late enough in order for Dark to be asleep. So in the moment he saw Dark heading to their room, Wilford immediately went to his own room to get himself ready to leave.

He dressed the same way he always did before each visit; a dark blue sweater with a yellow buttoned shirt underneath, pink suspenders, pants that he actually remembered to put on, colorful socks, and worn out sneakers that he keeps forgetting how to tie, ties them into tight knots anyway…

Wilford grabbed his backpack from inside his closet, where old trinquets, photos, and clothes reside inside collecting dust. On the very top of the closet’s shelf was an old, colorless military outfit neatly folded, with rounded cracked glasses resting on top of a pith helmet.

Wilford shut his closet’s door, and set his backpack down on his bed, stuffing bags of chips and sandwiches inside. He packed two polaroid photos inside as well. One photo of a young man with black hair slicked back. He has a white buttoned shirt and bowtie on with a black blazer, as well as a black ribbon with the title “Mayor” on it. In the photo, he was smiling. He looked smart, and empathetic. Wilford could get a very friendly vibe from him.

The second photo was of a woman, who looked around the same age as the man. Her hair was black as well, only for it to be one big bang over the left side of her head, almost covering her eye. Her whole dress consisted of black with white stars, only for a tiny pink rose to be on the side of her pillbox hat. She looked fierce, and determined. Wilford’s face felt warm just by looking at her.

Right after packing the two pictures, Wilford strapped a badly tuned ukulele in the front pocket of the backpack, for he wanted a little bit of music on his way.

As Wilford hoisted his backpack’s straps over his shoulders, he opened his door until he glanced over to his 357 magnum, which was peacefully resting on the top of his dresser. He’d usually bring this gun with him, but from his admittedly very poor memory, his last visits to the mansion were never that violent.

Wilford pouted his bottom lip out, pondering while glaring down the hallway if anybody else was around. He could hear some sort of karaoke party going on downstairs in the meeting room. As much as Wilford wanted to join, though, he had someplace to go.

Completely forgetting what he was pondering about, Wilford grabbed his gun by the handle, and stuffed it in his backpack’s side pocket. He shut and locked his door, and stared down at the end of the hallway. With the one light on the ceiling completely dead, this end of the hallway was black, only with the gray door being slightly visible. Wilford took a deep breath, and pushed out a sigh through his lips. Now for the tricky part.

Dark has carried this cane with them ever since Wilford has known them. The cane was pitch black, with a pure white diamond shining on the very top. To Wilford, this cane was so familiar to him, but he never understood how or why. But he knew that he had to get it.

Taking in another deep breath, Wilford approached Dark’s door by holding onto the handle, and pressing his ear against the door. He could always tell from the volume of Dark’s high pitched ringing if they were asleep or not. It was calm, almost soothing. Wilford smiled at this. Dark was definitely having some good sleep tonight. That’s good!

Opening the door slowly, Wilford peeked into the room, seeing that Dark was, indeed, asleep. The moonlight was visible through the window, which allowed Wilford to see Dark on their bed. He tip-toed across the fluffy carpeted floor, while spotting Captain Magnum’s pirate ship right outside of the building. How that thing was able to go through land, Wilford had no idea. Wilford shook the thought away from his head, and carefully reached out to the cane resting on Dark’s dresser, right next to the bed.

Then, Wilford’s foot rested on a creaking floorboard, causing Dark’s ringing to glitch quickly in alarm. Wilford hissed through his teeth, standing completely still in a totally serious sneaky pose. Dark squirmed in their bed, turning their back on Wilford. After a moment, Dark’s ringing calmed, and Wilford sighed deeply. He reached over to the cane, grabbing it right by the diamond. He froze as he heard a low grunt from Dark, only for it to turn back into light snoring.

No more wasting time! Gritting his teeth, Wilford rushedly tip-toed his way out of Dark’s room, cane in hand. He silently closed Dark’s door, and his posture softened in relief. He keeps forgetting that he has to do this every year.

Now that that’s done and over with, Wilford slid the cane between him and his backpack, with the cane slipping over the right strap and going through the left strap. Wilford trotted down the hallway down the multiple flights of stairs. He could hear the karaoke party from the meeting room getting gradually louder and louder as he got to the first floor of the building. Practically _everybody_ was inside, scream-singing. “ _IF I TRIED TO LIVE THIS GOOD OUT THERE! I’D HAVE TO BE A THOUSANDAIRE! THIS IS WHERE I WANNA GROW OLD…!_ ”

Wilford put his hand over his mouth to cover his laughter. Snickering, he walked over to the glass door and pushed, leaving the building. A cold wind blew, ruffling Wilford’s hair. The moon was bright, and Wilford looked around, making sure no one was in sight. He lifted up his hood, and tugged on the strings, making the hood encase his face.

Wilford took in another deep breath, smelling the air before walking away from the building. He forgets how long it takes to get to the Markiplier Mansion, but he always knows he’ll get there.


	2. A Minor Inconvenience? A Friend!

Wilford knew his way around the town to get to Laguna Hills, but of course, because of his memory, he’d have to come up with new directions every year. He could have easily brought a map with him this time, but it’s too late to go back and get one now.

In an amount of time that he wouldn’t really care about, Wilford found himself in a dark neighborhood of apartment buildings. One street light was flickering on and off, with moths flying all around it. A small stream of smoke was illuminated by the light, and Wilford’s gaze followed it to behind a set of stone stairs that lead to a building. The smoke was coming from a bald man in a black leather jacket, with his back turned against Wilford. He had a lighter in his hands, and as he kept flicking at it, tiny little sparks lit him up. He sighed. “Dammit. This is my last one, too.”

Wilford’s ears perked, and his eyebrows raised at the voice. He walked closer to the man, who only just turned around to walk up the steps, but stopped in his tracks to spot Wilford standing on the sidewalk. The man’s eyes narrowed, almost in suspicion. “Wilford?”

Smiling gently, Wilford waved, with his thumb stuck under a strap. The man walked underneath the light. He had sunken brown eyes with bags underneath them, and he had a lit cigarette in his mouth. Wilford then immediately recognized him. He knows who this guy is.

The man flicked the cigarette away from his mouth. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Wilford’s smile widened. He probably hasn’t seen this man in a long while, considering his reaction. “Hi, Abe.”

Abe smirked and walked over to Wilford, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Wilford stepped back a little bit, surprised about this hug. His hood fell back down, and Abe started laughing heartily. “How’re you doing, bud?”

Wilford almost stuttered. “Not- Not bad! Not bad at all!”

“Holy shit!” Abe exclaimed through laughs. He pulled himself away with his hand on Wilford’s shoulder. Abe was smiling so wide that it was almost strange to see. From what he’d remember, Wilford would rarely ever see a smile that big on Abe.

“I thought you forgot about me,” he said. “You got fuckin’ old!”

Wilford brushed Abe’s hand off his shoulder. “Have you been looking in the mirror lately?”

“Shut up,” Abe playfully punched his shoulder, making Wilford giggle. He then glanced up and down on Wilford’s clothes. “The hell are you wearing?”

“A sweater?” Wilford asked.

“Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious,” Abe said. “I’m pretty sure you _never_ wear something like this. And what’s with the bag? You look like you’re a little kid going on some school field trip.”

“Well, I am, in a way!” Wilford grinned, sticking up a finger. Abe put a hand on his hip.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked. “Where to?”

“You know that big bad mansion from a long time ago?” Wilford asked, plain and simple.

Abe’s face froze to an unsure grimace. “... Yeah?”

“I’m going there tonight!” Wilford exclaimed. He turned around to show off his backpack to Abe. “I keep forgetting all my shortcuts, so I guess I’m going through here this time!”

“Wait,” Abe said quietly. His grin slowly faded, as it usually would. “What do you mean ‘this time’?”

“What’s it matter?” Wilford asked. “I visit that place every year. Is that a bad thing?”

“Well…” Abe paused, and his hand lifted. “Doesn’t that dark friend of yours not want you to go there?”

Wilford shrugged. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I mean,” Abe’s grin faltered. “Yeah. Your friend doesn’t want you to go there. Do they know you’re out right now?”

“No,” Wilford said.

Abe had a perplexed expression on his face that Wilford couldn’t quite understand. “I don’t think they’ll like that a lot.”

“Oh, come on, what’s the big deal?” Wilford asked, smiling gently. “Dark lies to me all the time, it’s perfectly normal.”

Abe blinked at that. “What? No, it isn’t! Are you sure you two are even friends??”

“Yeah!” Wilford replied. Subconsciously, he walked past Abe as he spoke. “Have been for years! I don’t see what’s so bad about lying to your friends, it’s really just a house.”

“I mean, if your friend doesn’t want you at that house for whatever reason, I don’t think you should go there,” Abe said.

“Why?” Wilford asked. “Is it haunted?”

“I don’t know!” Abe replied. “Maybe?!”

Wilford shot a finger gun. “I like that estimate!”

Abe only took wide steps to get himself in front of Wilford to stop him from walking away. He put his hands on Wilford’s arms. “No- no, no, no, no. Wilford-”

“You’re taking this too seriously, Abe,” Wilford pouted. “We’ve only just bumped into each other, and you’re going all conspiracy mode over a house I’m going to? I thought we agreed a long time ago that you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know,” Abe said, shaking his head. “I know I did, but- _seriously,_ I think if someone doesn’t want you to go to a place, then I don’t think you should go to that said place.”

Wilford waved his hand. “You’re being a worry wart over a house, Abe! It’ll be okay! I’ll just go there, I’ll come back, and Dark won’t even know I was gone.”

“But they-” Abe started.

“I’ve done this a bunch of times before,” Wilford interrupted. “I know everything will be just fine.”

With the utmost confidence, Wilford brushed Abe’s hands off him again, and he strolled down the sidewalk, leaving Abe alone underneath the street light.

“At least be careful, you idiot!” Abe called out. Wilford simply rolled his eyes, keeping a soft smile on his face. He stuck out a thumbs-up from his sweater’s pocket. Abe frowned deeply under the street light, watching Wilford go. He glanced to the direction where Wilford came from, and turned to it.

From ugly looking neighborhoods to alleyways to the woods, Wilford had no idea how long this walk was, until he saw a familiar clear rocky trail in between a path of trees. Feeling his legs burning, Wilford sat down on a big enough rock that could make a good chair. He gazed at the trail that eventually led up to the mansion. A cold wind blew to the very direction up the trail, and Wilford stood right up like he was being lifted. He huffed, and pulled his hood over his head, and tugged on the strings. Just like every other year, Wilford took to the trail.

As he walked, Wilford stared down at his feet. Some rocks in the trail looked bothered and kicked, with sharp edges poking out. With every step he took, the ground got bumpier and bumpier, with the rocks starting to look sharper and sharper. Wilford grumbled. Someone should really fix this trail.

Just when these rocks started getting more annoying, Wilford spotted a gate at the very end of the trail. Smiling wide, Wilford hopped all over the rocks, almost stumbling and falling over himself. He landed on his hands and knees, and sprinted on all fours, with the snacks in his backpack rummaging around, crunching and crackling. Wilford jumped right up to his feet, standing right in front of the locked gate of the mansion.

Tugging on a bar of the gate, Wilford held his gaze at the familiar mansion. He glanced down at the lock and chain holding both the gate doors shut. Instinctively, he pulled out his gun from his backpack’s pocket, already knowing there are bullets inside. Casually, Wilford aimed and pulled the trigger, shooting the lock. The loud bang echoed in the dark night, and Wilford stuffed the gun back in the pocket. Smiling, he lightly kicked the gate open. He took his hood off, which ruffled his hair.

With no hesitation, Wilford walked to the steps of the front doors of the mansion. He pressed himself against the doors, pushing them open. Almost slipping over himself, Wilford stood in the empty mansion, no man, woman, or configuration of being in sight. He slowly walked down the foyer until he bumped into a table with a dead plant sitting on top of it. The floor was smooth and glossy, but it was clear that there was dust everywhere, with Wilford making footprints.

He set his backpack down on a small cushioned bench in front of a window, and pulled out a flashlight. The second he turned the flashlight on, however, made Wilford flinch and jump back, shielding his eyes. He softened, seeing the direction his flashlight was pointing to; a mirror in _very_ poor condition.

The glass had a huge circle-shaped crack on the right of the center, with streams of glass going across the mirror. The dust on the glass was illuminated by the flashlight, giving it an otherworldly appearance. Wilford kept the flashlight in his hand, gazing at himself in an unbothered part of the mirror. He smirked, batting his eyebrows. He looked _good!_

Wilford shot finger guns at himself until he glanced at the spiderweb-like crack right next to him. The fragments of the glass make it almost look like a silhouette of a person. Almost like they’re there. Wilford wondered if he could ever fix it. He shrugged it off. He’d forget anyway.

Wilford fiddled with the flashlight’s switch, looking around the rest of the mansion.

“Alrighty,” he muttered, smiling. “Time to explore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Abe, so I wrote him in last second. :D


	3. He WHAT??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's encouraged to read this chapter's title in the tone of that one SpongeBob fish. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsJc2ZhbXIg

Abe stood at the front door of the huge building where it kept these Mark Fischbach doppelgangers that most people would like to call ‘Egos’. Abe wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t really care much about it. He knocked on the door. He expected some authoritarian Ego to answer, but all Abe got was rumbling noises, music, and loud complaining from the same but different sounding voices.

The door opened, and a doppelganger with messy slicked back greasy hair and a plain white shirt appeared. One of his hands was in his black and white striped pants pocket, and he had this whole laid-back Greaser-like attitude.

“Heyy, uhh, wassup,” the Greaser said. “You betta make it quick, cuz we’re havin’ a karaoke party, and, uh…”

The Greaser stopped himself, and his eyes widened at the sight of Abe. “Warden? What’re youse doin’ here?”

“Uh-” Abe started. “I’m not-”

“I didn’t do nothin’ wrong, did I?” the Greaser asked, his voice suddenly sounding worried. “Shit, I thought I was doin’ real good on parole here… I- I can go an’ get my stuff-”

“No, I’m not who you think I am, kid,” Abe stopped him. “I wanna speak with whoever’s in charge here.”

The Greaser paused, and his posture softened. He looked embarrassed, but he tried to shrug it off. “Oh. That’d be Wilford you’re lookin’ for, yeah?”

“No,” Abe said. In his head, he asked himself loudly, _Wilford is the one in charge???_ “He’s a friend of mine, and he’s out right now. That’s why I came. Is there someone like a secretary, or a right hand man that I can talk to about him?”

The Greaser leaned against the door frame, putting his other hand in his other pocket. “Well, they ain’t a secretary, or a right hand man… I’m pretty sure they ain’t a man at all, the more that I think about ‘em…”

Abe raised an eyebrow. “And that is…?”

After a quick moment, the Greaser started smirking. “Yeah, Dark’s always hangin’ around Mista Winkie Pinkie all ova the place, makin’ sure he doesn’t get in any trouble and such. They’re betta than Warden, sometimes!”

The Greaser laughed, and Abe forced a smile, pretending to know who the hell this ‘Warden’ guy is. “Can I talk with them right now?”

“They’re sleepin’, mista,” the Greaser said, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’d ratha not be botha’ed.”

“They don’t know that Wilford is out, kid,” Abe said. “If Dark is always making sure Wilford doesn’t get in any trouble, then they should probably know that he’s in trouble right now.”

The Greaser’s eyebrows raised at that. “Well, damn! I guess I’ll go get ‘em for ya. Hang on out here, I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks,” Abe said. The Greaser nonchalantly winked at him, and closed the door.

Abe stood there, hearing more excited voices, rumbling, and music, specifically glass breaking and loud accusations of some big Captain at fault for it.

Abe took a small step back, expecting some kind of chair to fly out of the door. He looked up at the very top of the building, where there was a strange gray glow coming out through the windows. A drawn-out ringing noise could be heard, and Abe hunched his shoulders over his ears. Then, a loud echoing voice suddenly rang out at the top of the building. “ ** _WHERE IS HE?!_ **”

Abe stepped farther away from the door, seeing the gray glow from the top windows sway and sink down to the very bottom to the front door.

The door slammed open, with the walls cracking from the impact. A dead-gray Dark was standing there, gritting their teeth. Their hair was a tangled mess, and their baggy eyes were barely visible from how narrowed down they were. From behind Dark, there was a trampled over group of Doppelgangers in all different kinds of looks and aesthetics that Abe knew he wouldn’t have the time to analyze over.

Dark was staring at Abe dead in the eyes, almost snarling. Their grip on the door was so tight, small wood chips were splintering out and landing on the ground before Dark’s feet. Abe gulped as Dark took a few steps forward. They looked very tired, and very angry. Abe stared behind Dark’s shoulder to the rest of the Doppelgangers, who were grouped up together at the door frame, all with the same faces.

Abe flinched as he looked back at Dark, who was inches closer to him now. Dark was frowning deeply.

“ **Yancy said you came to tell me that Wilford is gone,** ” they said, voice gruff. “ **Where is he?** ”

Abe didn’t know why he was sweating. He was sure he’s met Dark a few times before, but why does this feel so new to him still?

“He, uh,” he started quietly. He cleared his throat, and held his head up high. “He told me he was going to a house.”

The deep red and blue auras surrounding Dark made them glitch out for a moment. They held onto their face with their hand, glaring at Abe between their fingers. “ ** _Where._** ”

“A mansion,” Abe said. “He told me he’s been there a bunch of times without telling you. All I know is that you don’t want Wilford there.”

Dark hung their head down, rubbing their eyes with their hands. A low growl from them slowly became louder, and Abe spotted the Doppelgangers beginning to panic, some shouting, “Shut the door, shut the door, shut the door, shut the door!”

The Greaser did so, quickly slamming the door shut, leaving Abe alone outside with Dark, who’s growl gradually turned into a scream. Abe backed away, seeing the red and blue auras distorting and dissolving, almost like they’re arguing with each other. Dark’s hands turned to fists, and Abe could almost hear multiple voices coming through their screaming.

“ _I THOUGHT YOU TOLD HIM NOT TO GO THERE!_ ”

“ _HE FORGETS THE SIMPLEST OF THINGS, WHY DOES IT MATTER?!_ ”

“ _WE NEED TO GET HIM._ ”

“ _HE’S DONE THIS BEFORE, HE’LL PROBABLY BE OKAY-_ ”

“ _NO, HE WON’T, HE’LL ONLY BE MORE FUCKED UP IF WE DON’T DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT._ ”

The voices weren’t very distinct. It was like multiple sentences were stacked on top of each other. Abe tried not to question it. He covered his ears from the high pitched ringing, and Dark tugged at their sleeves, breathing in and out through their teeth.

“ ** _ALRIGHT,_** ” they said, already almost out of breath. “ **ALRIGHT… Alright…** ”

A long deep sigh, and the auras and ringing died down from intensity. Abe uncovered his ears, and Dark simply cleared their throat.

“ **Sorry about that,** ” they said. “ **I get a little… carried away.** ”

Abe didn’t know what to say. He kept himself still as Dark glared back at him.

“ **Thank you for telling me,** ” Dark said. “ **He’s gone to the Markiplier Mansion, correct?** ”

Abe nodded, and so did Dark.

“ **Of course he has,** ” they muttered under their breath, and spoke back to Abe. “ **You can go home now, Detective. I have an errand I must attend to.** ”

With the blink of an eye, Dark was gone. Abe was completely alone outside, until the door to the building opened. The group of Doppelgangers were still at the door frame, all having terrified expressions on their faces.

“Dark’s a bit pissed, huh?” the Greaser spoke out.

“Uh,” Abe tried to come up with what to say on the spot. “Yeah, they, uh… they sure are.”

There was an awkward silence. Abe turned to go.

“Hey!” Yancy called out, making Abe stop in his tracks and turn back. “You wanna join our karaoke party?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is SO MUCH FUN writing Yancy's dialogue, not gonna lie


	4. Sunny, Sunny Day/Final Chapter

In a bedroom on the second floor, a number of written papers were scattered across the floor, with Wilford sitting criss-crossed in front of all of them, reading one by one. It’s funny how people used to write so fancy like this. Most of these papers had love poems written on them… extremely metaphorical love poems.

“Well,” Wilford said, after reading the twentieth poem in a row. “Looks like _somebody’s_ desperate.”

He stacked the poems together, and put them in the drawer where he found them. The poem at the very top of the stack, however, caught Wilford’s eye. It was an actual letter this time! Wilford leaned back over and pulled it out, leaning on the drawer.

“ _My dear, Celine,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I still have to get used to not calling because of You-Know-Who. He’s getting a bit too overprotective over what you say on the phone, don’t you think? You’d think he’d learn a thing or two about respecting privacy. But you’re his wife, so he has a say in everything you do. I don’t like it when he does this. I’m sure you don’t, either._

_As much as I miss my home, I do miss visiting you the most. From all those poems I’ve sent you, you must already know that. Your brother comes over often, telling me about you. He tells me you miss Mark’s parties only just to see me… Let’s just say I got a bit too flattered, and had my mind racing for days trying to think of what to tell you. Must explain all those poems! I hope they don’t come off as too much. I can tone them down if you wish!_

_Maybe one night, we can sneak out and take a stroll? I can sing you a song if I have to convince you to come with me! We both know you’re losing your lustre with the mansion, as much as I’ve loved the place… Maybe a little adventure and mischief could be right up your alley. We could practically fly into outer space, not caring what Mark, or anybody else would think! Life needs a bit of madness, after all._

_In all seriousness, if Mark gives you any trouble, have no worries and call me if you really need to leave. I’ll do anything for you, my love. You can carve my heart out, and I’d still adore you. I hope you know that._

_\- William J. Barnum, XOXO_ ”

Wilford sat still on the floor, staring at the name ‘William’ on the bottom of the page. There’s a name he hasn’t heard in a long while. And the name at the top… Celine. That name certainly rings a bell just as clear.

After a moment of just holding onto the letter, with his fingers running through it, Wilford carefully folded it, and stuffed it in his shirt’s pocket underneath his sweater. He stood up, groaning “Oh, my knees,” to himself. He then looked right out the window, seeing the sun just starting to rise. How long was Wilford here??

Wilford grabbed onto Dark’s cane that was resting on the bed as he left the room. He swung the door shut, strolled down the balcony that led to the stairs. Sitting on top of and keeping his balance on the railing, Wilford slid all the way down to the first floor, until he stumbled over himself to land on his back, with the cane clanging right next to him. “Ow.”

Wilford sat up, and held onto the cane again for a moment. He felt the tiny dents and chips in the wood, and he stared deeply into the diamond at the very top. For some reason, Wilford felt a sense of unease from this cane. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way he was clutching onto it? Oh well. Wilford got back up, and let the cane lean against the bench, where his backpack still resided. Small plastic bags were all over the floor. If only there was some kind of garbage chute around here.

Wilford shrugged the thought off, and unstrapped his ukulele from his backpack. He sat on the bench to tune it. Wilford blew a bit of his hair away from his face, and strummed his now perfectly tuned strings. This ukulele would always make Wilford feel so giddy like a little child, no matter what kind of song he’d try to play. Ukuleles just sound so… innocent!

Wilford sat there on the bench, with the instrument on his lap. He rested his arm on it, wondering what song to play. Surely it would make a wonderful echo around the mansion, considering it’s so empty and wide open. Wilford closed his eyes, pondering. Some song that starts with a V… A song that was very gentle and slow, the exact opposite of most music that Wilford would listen to.

Wilford played, whistling in tune where he’d forget the lyrics. He’d mumble-sing to himself when he’d remember. “ _Now I understand, what you tried to say to me, and how you suffered for your sanity, and how you tried to set them free. They did not listen, they did not know how… Perhaps they’ll listen now._ ”

Wilford sat there on the bench, quietly playing to himself as the sunlight shone through the windows, lighting up the mansion slowly.

“ _But I could have told you, Vincent,_ ” he sang quietly. “ _This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you._ ”

Wilford paused, looking out the window across the foyer. He stood up, with the ukulele in his arms, heading out to the back of the mansion. Wilford paced on the ground outside, plucking and fiddling with the ukulele strings, as he looked around. No clouds were in sight, and the sky was already turning so blue.

Wilford eventually reached a pool, that was… ugly. He expected it to be a lot cleaner. The pool’s regular perfect blue coloring changed to a grimey green turquoise. Leaves were floating above the water, and a frog or two could be spotted hopping along the edge of the pool. Wilford stood right by the pool, clinging onto his ukulele.

He kneeled to put the instrument on the ground, he rolled up his pants sleeves, and took his shoes and socks off. Wilford sat himself down, and dunked his feet into the freezing water. Shivering, his toes curled. How could untreated pool water feel so disgusting _and_ cold? Nevertheless, Wilford sat there, with his feet now shivering. He breathed in deeply, smelling the early morning air. He smiled calmly. If only he could actually live in this place.

Wilford didn’t know how long he was sitting by the pool. He flinched as he heard some sort of bump from inside. He knew it wasn’t a door shutting, so nobody else arrived. Maybe something fell? Wilford stood up and struggled to put down his pants sleeves, collected his socks and shoes, grabbed his ukulele, and ran back to the same door he came out of, leaving wet footprints across the ground.

Wilford opened the door to find that nothing has changed. Nothing has been moved around, at least. Wilford tossed his socks and shoes by the bench, to hold onto his ukulele by the handle like a baseball bat. He put his back against the wall in the center of the foyer, only to pop out and see nothing that could possibly make a bumping noise. Wilford softened, and looked at the mirror on the wall. Some bits have apparently fallen out. Wilford glanced down to see small shards of glass on the floor.

Stepping away from the glass, Wilford sat right back down on the bench without looking, and he picked on the ukulele’s strings. He held his gaze back up at the mirror, which still has the cracked silhouette of a person. The glass reflected the front door of the mansion, with daylight seeping through the windows.

Wilford sighed, blowing hair away from his face. He leaned forward on the bench, staring past the wall and down the hallway, to a part of the mansion he hasn’t explored just yet. He set his ukulele aside, and got back on his feet. The next time Wilford visits this mansion, he would have to bring a journal to list all of these different kinds of rooms and floors.

Not caring about his socks or shoes, Wilford went barefoot down the cold hallway to find a cellar that led down a set of stairs. Not second guessing, Wilford swung the small door open, and strolled right down to see the cellar full of wine. The chandelier on the ceiling looked a bit unnecessary, but nobody comes to this mansion anyway, so why does it matter?

There were barrels in corners of the room, and a shelf that was full of _very_ expired wine bottles. Wilford wandered in circles in the cellar until he heard something shift on the floor. He looked down to find tiny pieces of glass by his feet, luckily, he didn’t step on any of them. A faint-ish stain could be seen. Wilford squatted down to take a closer look. The stain looked like a wine bottle was smashed and the drink spilled out. He picked up one of the pieces of glass, fiddling with it.

Then, Wilford flinched, making him fall over on his bottom on the floor. Another loud bump was heard. Wilford turned quietly, trying to listen for the strange noise he was sure he’s never heard before in his last visits. Another bump, and Wilford quickly got back up to his feet to run up the stairs and leave the cellar. Another bump, and Wilford pressed himself against the wall in the center of the foyer again, only this time, with nothing to protect him.

Wilford glared at the gun in his backpack’s pocket, and he flinched back at another loud bump, right by the front of the wall. He took in multiple deep breaths, and he ran to yank the gun out of the pocket. He turned around as he aimed, only to see the mirror on the wall tilting and sliding, banging against the wall. Shards of glass were flailing out of the frame, landing on the floor.

Wilford froze, with his eyes widening.

With his toes, he plucked his socks out of the shoes to slide them on without putting his gun down. If he remembers, Wilford will have to stuff his socks in his backpack. But that doesn’t matter right now, there is a mirror that has spontaneously come to life, and Wilford has no idea if he’s ever seen this happen or not.

Wilford hoisted his backpack over his shoulder as he stepped closer by the door, keeping his gun aimed by the mirror, which was still sliding and slamming against the wall. There is no way Wilford is gonna be able to fix this thing now. He kept his free hand by the doorknob to open it, which only made the mirror slam more and more violently, with glass flinging out and landing on the floor. Wilford kept himself frozen, staring at what was left of himself in the mirror’s reflection, until the frame was completely empty.

The mirror stopped moving, and Wilford was halfway out the door. Wilford stared deeply at the empty mirror frame, seeing a crack in the middle. He put his gun down, but still kept his finger on the trigger. Shards of glass of all sizes were on the floor, all pieces close together, including the center crack where the silhouette could be seen down to the shoulders.

In this now very quiet moment, Wilford leaned over to grab the cane and ukulele from the bench, holding them with one arm. He truly considered leaving at this moment. Dark could be awake by now, and Wilford didn’t leave a note for them, or tell any of the Egos, or anything… Wilford turned to go, but the suddenly slight glow in the glass shards caught his eye. There wasn’t a source of light that would have shone down on the shards in any direction, but they were lighting up anyway. The shards in the shape of the silhouette were flashing, and the shards dragged themselves closer together.

A hand reached out through the glass, and Wilford screamed. “SHIT!”

He slammed the door shut, and crouched down to the ground, holding himself. Why couldn’t he just leave? It would be so easy to just run off right now! But for some strange reason, Wilford stayed in place. He clung onto his gun, ukulele, and Dark’s cane tightly, as a bright light was flashing inside of the mansion. Wilford blinked, and saw the rays of the light dying down through the door windows.

There was a moment of complete silence. Wilford stood up to look into the door windows, seeing a new figure standing in the foyer. Their back was turned against the door, and Wilford saw their hands clenching, their fingers wiggling. Their shoulders heaved, and they suddenly went limp. The figure fell to the floor with a loud thud, and Wilford almost immediately opened the door.

Letting his objects fall to the floor, so did Wilford, only he sat on his knees, reaching out to… whoever the hell this person is, if they even are a person. They just bursted out of the mirror’s glass, from what Wilford just saw! Speaking of the mirror’s glass, the shards on the floor were completely gone. But that’s not important right now.

This person kept their balance on their hands and knees, and Wilford had his hands gently reached out to them. “Excuse me… Are you okay?”

The person sighed shakily, with their hand gripping onto Wilford’s sleeve, making him flinch slightly. This person spoke, but no sound came out. Voiceless, the person mouthed, “Thank you.”

Wilford smiled. He gets a sense he must know this person, but he isn’t so sure where he’s met them.

“ ** _WILFORD._** ”

The person gasped, covering their mouth with their hand. Wilford turned and stood up, seeing Dark by the gate of the mansion. Their black and gray figure was enveloped with red and blue, and they were scowling deeply.

“Ah, _shit,_ ” Wilford muttered under his breath. “Figures Abe told them.”

He turned back to the person, trying not to look panicked. “Can you stand? What’s your name?”

Wilford kneeled back to the floor to help the person stand up to their feet, also while gathering his things (he remembered the socks, thankfully). The person was able to stand, but couldn’t give Wilford an answer to their name.

“Well, whatever your name is,” Wilford said, holding the person’s hand. “We’ll figure it out eventually. Dark’s just… _super_ upset right now. Let’s try to talk to them!”

The person shook their head, tugging at Wilford’s hand.

“It’s okay,” Wilford said. “They’ll get over it once I knock some sense into them.”

The person continued shaking their head, absolutely refusing to move.

“We’ll be alright, friend,” Wilford’s voice was reassuring. “Don’t let go of my hand, okay?”

The person’s eyes were wide with anxiety, and they gulped. They nodded, and Wilford smiled again.

Dark’s voice rang through the walls of the mansion. “ **COME OUT,** **_NOW._** ”

Wilford and the person - who Wilford just now decides to call them ‘Friend’ - approached the door, and their grip around each other’s hands tightened.

Carefully, Wilford opened the door, and Friend cautiously hid behind him. Wilford’s pace was slow, knowing that Friend had only just gotten used to standing up. They then froze up at the sight of Dark walking. Wilford could hear Friend’s trembling breathing, so he stopped walking for them. Only Dark continued to approach Wilford, having no idea about the stranger.

Wilford kept a brave face, gesturing the cane to Dark as they were right in front of him. Dark only frowned, snatching the cane out of Wilford’s hand.

“That wasn’t very necessary,” Wilford said.

“ **That’s none of my concern,** ” Dark replied. “ **What in the actual** **_hell_ ** **are you doing here?** ”

“Exploring,” Wilford said, plain and simple.

“ **You’re not ‘exploring’ here anymore,** ” Dark replied. Wilford blinked at that.

“What?!” he asked loudly. “Why?!”

“ **You aren’t coming back to this place again. Do you understand me?** ”

Wilford scoffed in disbelief. “I understand, I just don’t want to live by all your rules.”

“ ** _Promise_ ** **me,** ” Dark said, voice almost wavering. “ **That you’ll never come here. How could you run off like that? Not even leaving me a goddamn** **_note?_ **”

“You lie to me all the time!” Wilford exclaimed. “What’s the difference?!”

As he spoke, his hands came out from his sides, unintentionally pulling Friend’s hand along with him. Friend was shown to Dark, and the both of them froze.

“ **You…** ” Dark’s eyes widened before they narrowed in suspicion. They glared back at Wilford. “ **You didn’t have to do anything with…** **_that…_ ** **did you?** ”

“Why did you have to word it like that?” Wilford asked. “I didn’t do anything wrong. They just came out of a mirror.”

Dark’s aura went to static, making them freeze again like a paused VHS tape.

Gently, Wilford stood between Dark and Friend, gesturing for the both of them to meet in an awkward casual way. “Dark… this is my new friend. From how this looks, you two must already know each other.”

There was silence. Friend stood still, keeping their hands to their sides. Their facial expressions towards Dark looked scared, hurt, and betrayed, for some reason. Wilford pursed his lips, holding Friend’s hand again.

“Why am I not allowed here?” he asked Dark, almost innocently.

Dark sighed through their nose. “ **This place isn’t safe for you. I don’t care what kinds of defense you’re trying to make for yourself here, but trust me when I say, this place is never meant for one like you.** ”

“But _why??_ ” Wilford asked. “Do you have an actual explanation besides ‘It’s not safe’?”

“ **It’s-** ” Dark was about to repeat what Wilford just said, but stopped themselves. “ **It’s something that I can’t tell you right now.** ”

“Can you at least tell me about _them??_ ” Wilford gestured to Friend, who darted their eyes at Wilford in anxiety. “They were stuck in a fucking _mirror!_ ”

Dark opened their mouth, only for nothing to come out. They avoided eye contact with Friend, frowning.

“ **They were a District Attorney,** ” Dark said. “ **They were shot in the stomach, and died. That is all.** ”

Friend’s eyes narrowed.

“They’re not dead, Dark,” Wilford accused. “They’re _right here._ Dark, _look_ at them!”

Dark refused to look at Friend, staring down at their shoes.

“Dark, please,” Wilford continued. “Why can’t we just talk about this??”

Dark shook their head. “ **This should be none of your concern anymore.** ”

Wilford took a step further to Dark, with Friend standing behind him, clinging onto Wilford’s arm.

“ _Dark,_ ” Wilford brought his hand up, pressing it against Dark’s lowered cheek. “You can tell me.”

Dark looked at Wilford with a sudden lost, sad expression. Friend was familiar with that face. Wilford’s voice went gentle.

“Tell me what happened here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy third birthday, "Who Killed Markiplier?"!
> 
> The song that Wilford played was Vincent by Don McLean!
> 
> The District Attorney coming back by the mirror's glass was taken from my other fic, "Complex Beings, Complex History", a very long collab with AskError87!


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